


Divide Me Down

by LadySmutterella



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 09:31:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17200991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySmutterella/pseuds/LadySmutterella
Summary: The Summer of Like is over and Frank just can't turn down an opportunity to say hello to a puppy. Honestly, it's a problem waiting to happen.Featuring the crossover you never knew you wanted until now.





	Divide Me Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akamine_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/gifts).



The Summer of Like is over.

Nothing can last forever, and despite Mikey’s perpetual moping Frank is glad it’s done. 

It isn’t that Warped hadn’t been fun, but being on the road on their own is less intense – there are fewer feelings flying around to be hurt, fewer people to get in the way of them being a band together. Honestly, Frank prefers things this way. 

The fact that he seems to have two sulking Way brothers to deal with in its wake isn’t changing his mind at all. Honest. 

Still, a change is as good as a rest and he doesn’t regret taking a quiet afternoon to go for a walk by himself. He’ll pick them up a milkshake, maybe. Or a comic. 

Whatever, for now he kicks around the city streets under the premise that he’s visiting music stores to hand out flyers for the show tomorrow. 

He’s not sure that he’s been to San Francisco before – he probably has, some days it seems like he’s been everywhere – but he’s never had a chance to walk around the city before and Frank never really feels like he knows somewhere until he’s explored its streets. 

Even this close to Christmas San Francisco is fun to walk around. They’re early enough in December that the shops aren’t unpleasantly crowded yet, and the kids who work in the music stores have time to swap a few words – telling him where the best places are for a veggie-burger and who the best tattoo artists are. 

Also this neighbourhood is residential enough that there are people walking their dogs, and if anything is going to put Frank in a good mood it’s getting to say hello to some dogs. 

In all honesty, most of the great tragedies in Frank’s life are because he can’t say no to a dog. 

This one is especially floofy – small and Chihuahua-like with ridiculous ears. Frank is instantly smitten. 

“Hello,” he says, crouching down to its level. “Aren’t you gorgeous? Aren’t you?” The dog cocks its head to the side, considering, but Frank refuses to believe he is being judged by a dog. 

“Aren’t you the most handsome boy I’ve met today?” he says, and reaches out to pet the dog’s irresistibly soft ears. 

He’s half expecting to be told off by an angry owner or just to make a new doggy friend. What he is certainly not expecting is something black and oily to ooze out of the dog and up his arm.

He freezes – not able to comprehend what’s happening. It must be oil from the road, or some trick of the light, or…

The substance hesitates when it reaches Frank’s neck, and if Frank was given to flights of fancy he might think that it was sniffing him, like it was trying to work out if he was good to eat. 

He’s not quite sure what happens after that, but when he comes back to himself he’s sprinting as fast as he can back to the van.

_It was my imagination_ he tells himself as he reaches a street he knows. _Nothing to worry about_.

He forces himself to slow down and he’s only slightly out of breath by the time he gets to the van. 

Clearly he didn’t stop running early enough though. 

“Dude,” Gerard looks up from whatever he’s doodling. “What’s up?”

He’d forgotten to bring back milkshakes or comics, he realises, and he shrugs. It doesn’t have the reassuring effect he’d hoped for though. Gerard puts down his notebook and even Mikey looks up from scowling at his phone like he’s being paid to do it. 

“I’m fine,” he tries, but if anything Gerard looks even more concerned. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, starting to take Frank’s temperature with the back of his hand.

“I’m fine,” Frank snaps again, even though he doesn’t feel great, and from the look on Gerard’s face his temperature is not in the comfortable range either. 

“We should get a motel,” Gerard says. 

“Not in the budget,” Ray says, but it doesn’t sound like his heart is in it – they’ve been witnesses to Frank’s over-protective immune system too many times now. 

It’s by mutual decision that Frank gets a room to himself, even if Gerard does make sure he gets a spare key to it. Frank kinda wants to sulk about it but he’s achy and feverish, and honestly the idea of a hot shower and a soft bed is too good to turn down. 

He flicks on the TV and staggers into the bathroom to run the shower, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. Hopefully, he thinks, this will burn itself out overnight. If not, it wont be the first time he’s performed while delirious, and anyone (Bob) who says that he plays better that way can eat his entire ass. 

The shower makes him feel a tiny bit better, enough that he answers the door when someone knocks.

“I thought you might like a burger,” Gerard says holding out a greasy smelling bag.

It isn’t what he’d have chosen but Frank realises he’s ravenous and barely thanks Gerard before he’s shutting the door on Gerard and climbing into bed to eat the burger and the fries that Gerard hadn’t bothered mentioning. 

It eases his hunger but he misses meat for the first time in like ever.

This is a fucking weird bug, he thinks as he piles all the blankets onto the bed and climbs under the covers with his coat on. 

His temperature keeps rising and when he wakes up feeling like something has died in his mouth, he’s still fucking hungry.

“Not fair,” he mutters as he checks his phone. It’s 2am. “I bet I’m dying or something.”

_Don’t worry_ he hears as he closes his eyes again. _I won’t let you die_. 

—

He feels better in the morning – as if the previous twelve hours hadn’t happened – and he is _hungry_.

“C’mon,” he whines to the dark shapes in the other room. “Breakfast.”

“Jesus.” Ray has the worst bed head first thing in the morning. It’s vaguely hilarious. “What time is it?”

“Breakfast time,” Frank tells him, because duh. 

“8am,” Mikey says from his place on the floor. “I’ll take him.”

“Hey,” Frank says, vaguely outraged. “I’m not a dog.”

He runs to keep up with Mikey though as he stalks towards Bob Evans, because Mikey likes the sausage there and Frank’s willing to compromise when necessary. But it’s only once he’s inhaled the first stack of pancakes that he notices the rings under Mikey’s eyes. 

“You okay?” he asks, nonchalantly as he gestures for the waitress. He needs more coffee and maybe just a bit more breakfast. 

“Not sleeping,” Mikey tells him, shrugging. 

“Oh?” Frank says. He’s not going to ask, but he bets the problem rhymes with Feet Meantz.

“What can I get you, doll?” The waitress is improbably blonde and has the look shared by all early morning servers, the one that despairs of humanity in its entirety and of diner patrons in particular. 

“Waffles please,” Frank says to her, “and some…”

_Sausage._

He snaps his mouth shut. The word came from him, but he would swear he hadn’t meant to say it, and it wasn’t his voice…

“Aren’t you vegan?” Mikey asks, sounding slightly scared. 

“Yes,” Frank says, and looks up at the waitress. “No sausage please, but more coffee if you have it, and um… maybe a slice of pie?”

She rolls her eyes, but writes down the order and heads off. 

“You wanna talk about that?” Mikey asks, and Frank glares at him.

“You wanna talk about why you didn’t sleep?” he shoots back and Mikey has the grace to look away. 

He’s finally full of breakfast foods by the time the others join them, even if he does feel a bit like a python that’s eaten a goat.

“Ugh,” he mutters at the image, just as he also thinks _yum_.

He shoots a look around the table but things are as usual – Gerard is looking at his coffee like it’s the answer to all his problems in a cup, Ray is charming the waitress, Bob has his eyes closed and Mikey is glaring at his phone like it’s offended him. No one had said the thing he heard.

_Of course they didn’t_ he hears. _I did_.

“Back in a minute,” he says tightly and heads to the washroom. 

He feels a bit better after he’s washed his hands and splashed face with cold water so he takes and deep breath and looks at himself in the mirror. 

“Am I losing my mind?” he asks, and honestly, no matter his opinion of his sanity he’s not expecting a reply. But instead of his normal comfortable face his mouth is stretching toothily while his eyes stretch backwards like a really cool pair of sunglasses.

“Not at all,” his face says. “In fact, you have more mind than you’ve ever had before, Frankie.”

Frank isn’t ashamed to say that he screams like a girl before hurling himself back from the mirror and dashing back to the table.

“Guys,” he pants, “my face…”

“Awful,” Bob says without looking.

“Terrible,” Ray tells him with a grin. 

“Looks like normal to me,” Gerard tells him, looking worried.

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Bob asks.

—

They’ve still got time before checkout so Frank makes the most of the opportunity and has another shower. It’s partly because he’s drenched in sweat from last night and partly because it’s the only excuse he can think of to be on his own. 

He sets the water running and strips off, standing in front of the mirror, staring at his tattoos like the familiar patterns will make everything okay.

“What are you?” he asks, then feels stupid for asking. 

There’s the sense of something shifting or stretching and a sleek black head appears next to his in the mirror. 

“Interesting,” the head says. “Most hosts normally freak out more than this.” 

“Hosts?” Frank says, trying to keep breathing, trying not to faint. 

“Yes.” The head turns and caresses the edge of Frank’s cheek with an abnormally long tongue. “I cannot survive the atmosphere on this planet without a host.”

“This planet?” Frank echoes. “You’re an alien?”

“You might call me that,” the thing says. “Of course, to me _you_ are the alien.” 

“You’d think I’d have a cooler outfit if I was an alien,” Frank says, because losing his mind seems to be an unnecessary luxury just now. 

“Most aliens are bigger than you,” the thing agrees amicably. “But you were the friendliest host I could find at short notice.” 

“That’s me. Last choice for the desperate everywhere,” Frank says, an edge of bitterness to his tone. He’s not thinking of Gerard and Bert at all. Oh no. 

The thing looks at him, considering. 

“You are a good host,” it says at last. “We can be happy together.”

“Yeah?” Frank says his lip curling. “You looking forward to the bright lights of showbiz then?”

“Showbiz?” The thing asks. 

“My band,” Frank explains slowly. “I play guitar in a band.”

“Interesting.” The thing preens. “We shall see how this showbiz tastes then.” 

—

It turns out that having some sort of alien living in your head is not something Frank would recommend. Not if you want an easy life.

For a start there is the constant hunger, but mostly – mostly – there’s the never-ending fucking commentary. 

_Who’s this?_ the thing asks from somewhere inside him, a voice only Frank can hear.

“Ray,” Frank says as quietly as he can. “He plays guitar.”

_I thought you played guitar._

“There can be two guitarists in a band,” Frank says, smiling because he’s heard _this_ before.

_Who is this?_ the alien asks, turning Frank’s head towards…

“Bob. He plays the drums.”

_Ah._ There’s a sense of recognition. _Like a caveman._

Frank giggles. “Yeah,” he agrees, and Bob – who has a sixth sense when it comes to Frank talking shit even when he’s too far away to hear – looks up and glares at him. 

“That’s Mikey,” Frank says, forestalling the next question. 

_Why does he look so sad?_ the alien asks, feeling pensive. 

“Ugh.” Frank rolls his eyes. “Boy trouble.”

_Boy trouble?_

“He fell in love in the summer and now they’re apart.”

_That is sad._ Frank can feel sadness wash through him. It’s weird that it isn’t his own. _You shouldn’t be apart from people that you love._

This is an alien, Frank realises, who’s probably light years away from everything it loves. “Yeah.” He pats his own shoulder for lack of any part of the thing to touch and hopes it gets the message. “It sucks.”

They sit in silence for a bit.

“Hey.” Gerard is standing beside him, a cardboard cup of coffee in one hand and a fond smile on his face. “Brought you a drink.”

“Thanks,” Frank says and reaches out to take the cup, warming his hands on it. 

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah. Better anyway. Must have been a twenty-four hour thing.”

“You’ll be okay to play?”

“Dude.” Frank grins at him. “I’d have been okay to play with the fever.”

“I know.” Gerard looks up at him from under the mess of his hair. “Doesn’t stop me worrying.”

He wanders off, in search of more coffee Frank would bet.

_Interesting,_ the alien says. _Who is he? He makes your brain taste delicious._

“What?” Frank blinks in surprise. “Ugh. Shut up, dude. That’s _gross_.”

_Is he your mate?_

“No! He’s our lead singer.” 

_And do all lead singers make your brain taste like this?_

“No. Yes. Shut up. God.”

“Hey.” Ray kicks Frank’s sneaker with his foot. “Time to stop chatting to yourself and run through some chords.”

“Thank fuck.” Frank stands up and snags his guitar. “Seriously, dude. Being on the road is driving me insane.”

“You, me and all of us,” Ray tells him and hauls him up onto the stage to soundcheck. 

—

The show fucking rocks. 

The kids come together in one giant moshing unit; Gerard struts across the stage like he owns it, and Frank is on _fire_. 

The elation carries him off the stage, bouncing him from person to person, until he’s riding Bob down the corridors, spurring him on with his heels and whooping like a bandit, while Gerard slides down the wall, helpless with laughter and even Mikey’s lips are quirking up in an almost smile. 

That was amazing, he says when Bob decides he’s had enough and dumps Frank unceremoniously onto the sofa. That crowd! Those kids!

_They would have been delicious_ he hears. _We should have eaten their heads_. 

Gross, he tells his unseen passenger, and obediently follows Gerard out to sign autographs until the kids have had enough. 

—

It goes without saying that he can’t sleep after that. He’d badger one of the others to sit and talk to him, but they seem flaked out and even Mikey seems to be sleeping, so he tucks himself into the back of the van, cracks open a beer and watches the road slip by as they make their way to the next venue.

It’s not far, but last night’s little motel extravaganza means it’s the van or a tent for the foreseeable future. 

_You love this_ , the alien says, and Frank nods.

“It means everything to me,” he says, quietly enough that the others will never notice.

_It makes your brain taste the same as your singer does._

“Shut up.” Frank is blushing and would cut anyone who pointed this out. 

The alien feels amused but makes no comment and they sit and watch the lights together until Mikey makes a small broken noise in his sleep.

_You said he loved someone he was parted from_ , the alien says.

Frank nods. “Over the summer. We were touring together. He’s in another band.”

_Ah. And now they are apart._

“Yeah. They’re touring… I don’t know. Somewhere. And we’re here.”

_You should help them._ The alien sounds determined and for some reason that makes Frank smile. 

“How?” he asks, the smile still warming his voice. “We’re different bands. We got different schedules. Mikey’s gonna have to face it sooner or later – sometimes things just don’t work, not matter how much you want them to.” 

_Oh._ The alien falls silent. Frank becomes aware of a deep well of sadness inside himself and for the first time he wonders what the alien is doing with him, where it had been before, how it seemed familiar with all those very human things that Frank has thrown at it. 

“I could be wrong,” he says carefully. “I mean, I’m not an expert on relationships or anything. The thought is so ridiculous is makes him snort. Just look at my life.”

_Who do you have?_ the thing asks.

“No one,” Frank says, thinking of the girl who is now his best friend and the boy who’s never looked at him like that. “So like I said, what do I know.”

_Maybe._ The thing curls in on itself. It’s a weird sensation, even if it isn’t exactly unpleasant. _Do you think that there are some relationships that can never work?_

“Sometimes.” It’s out of character, but Frank is trying to think before he speaks. “I guess it depends on how much you both want it, how much you’re willing to work at it. How much you’re willing to change.” 

_Is change necessary?_

“I guess so. We’re all different when we’re together with someone than when we’re alone, aren’t we?” 

_What if the other person doesn’t want to change? What if they want the life they had before they met you?_

“Then I guess you have to work out what you are willing to put up with,” Frank says. “And they have to work out what the relationship is worth to them.” 

The alien hums, like it’s thinking about something – or someone. 

“Are you missing someone?” Frank asks at last, and the alien coils itself again. 

_No_ , it says, though Frank would put money on that being a lie. _I was alone before I met you._

“Right,” Frank says and doesn’t bother to keep the disbelief out of his tone. 

_And your singer_ , the alien says, clearly deciding that the best defence is a good offence. _He is not in another band. Why is he not yours?_

The problem with something living in your brain, Frank decides, is that it’s really fucking difficult to tell a lie – even if it’s a lie you would prefer to believe.

“I wanna tell you that it’s because it would be bad for the band,” he says as quietly as he can, “but really it’s because he doesn’t want to be with me.”

_Then he is a fool_ , the thing says, loyally. _You are a good host and he would be lucky to have you as a mate._

“You’re not that bad either,” Frank says, and falls asleep smiling. 

—

There are certain necessary evils in being in a band, and one of those things is the press. 

Frank would like to avoid it if he could, but he signed on for this whole thing – the good parts and the bad – and he can never find it in his conscience to leave the others to deal with interviews on their own. 

Still, he is very tempted every time the alien suggests eating a skull right now and the manic grin he’s sporting at the internal commentary that’s happening is unnerving the others. 

Right up until the last interview of the day.

Frank’s not sure why an investigative journalist wants to interview them, but even he’s heard of the Brock Report and Frank’s kinda looking forward to seeing what the interview is like – especially as they only have the show tonight before they fly out to Europe. 

He’s not expecting Brock to look like a hot fucking mess. 

“Are you okay, dude?” Ray asks, hurrying to get the guy a chair. 

Frank doesn’t much believe in pandering to the press, but he’s worried that if they don’t get this guy to sit down, he’s gonna fall down and Frank feels a level of concern about that that feels deeper than his own emotion. 

“I’m fine,” Brock says. “Just got a cold or something.”

“Well don’t give it to us,” Gerard says laughing. “Frankie’s only just recovered from his last bout.” 

“Sucks, doesn’t it,” Brock says, but even though he’s smiling at Frank he looks sad, and Frank feels the suddenly-silent alien twist inside him.

As it goes, the interview is much what they’re all used to – questions about the scene and the band and the kids they reach out to. It’s only when Gerard has finished talking about artistic visions and the tape-recorder has been switched off that Brock asks the question that matters.

“Is it worth it?” He asks. “I mean, following your vision or whatever?” 

Gerard looks at him warily, and the rest follow his lead and stay quiet. 

“I mean,” Brock looks at them all in turn. “You have to have made choices that count, right? There have to be people who think you should give up your vision to be with them. That there isn’t room in your heart for both things.”

Frank feels a twist of shame in his gut at the words that he doesn’t think is his and wonders what his alien is thinking right now. 

“We’ve all made choices,” he says though. “But I think that everyone who loves us has supported us while we’ve done this.” He looks at the others and sees the truth of his answer reflected in their eyes. “I don’t know that we could have done this without them.” 

“And if they hadn’t? Brock asks, looking wretched. “Would you have tried to do it without them?” 

“Yes,” Gerard says, just as Mikey says “Maybe” and Bob says “No”. 

“No help there,” Frank says, smiling. “But maybe if someone is telling you that there is only space in your life for them and you need to leave your dream behind, then you need to think about how healthy that relationship is.” 

—

_Do you believe that?_ the alien asks later, when they’re alone and getting ready for that night’s show. _That whoever loves him should take a second place in his life to his work?_

Ah, Frank thinks. I thought so.

“I don’t think they would,” he says. “You saw his face, buddy. Whoever has asked him this – he loves them very much. Enough that he’s thinking of giving up what he loves for them – even if that’s the thing that makes him _him_.”

_Oh_ , the alien says quietly. 

“I just hope that that person knows what they’re doing,” Frank says, trying hard not to lay it on too thick. “He loves his job, and without doing the thing he loves… well. I wonder if he’d be the person they fell in love with in the first place.”

The alien is quiet, but Frank can feel it thinking, and he finishes getting ready for the show without disturbing it. 

It’s only when Frank is nearly ready to go on stage that the alien shifts again. 

_I want to use your voice_ , it says. _And your phone._

Frank shrugs. Of the things he’s been asked for over the past few days, this feels like a very small thing. He doesn’t even bother paying attention to who it calls – he figures sometimes there are things that need to be said and these don’t need an audience.

—

Airports always feel too bright.

It makes Frank feel dislocated from reality, stuck in some sort of liminal space between worlds and times. 

Plus there’s always the risk of paparazzi, especially now they’re making a name for themselves.

They get through most of the check in process and are making their way to the lounge when Mikey freezes.

“Pete?” He says, like he can’t believe what he’s saying. “Wentz, is that you?”

“Living and breathing, baby.”

Wentz is as obnoxious as Frank remembers, but he can’t say he’s surprised to see him here – and from the coil of pleasure he feels he knows exactly who he can thank for this. 

Meanwhile he coughs politely and grins at Gerard as they both turn away from the semi-pornographic PDA that’s unfolding behind them. 

“Think he’s coming with us?” Ray asks and Gerard nods.

“I don’t think they’re splitting up anytime soon.” He glances behind them and shudders in feigned disgust. “We might be stuck with him for Europe.”

“We are,” Bob says. “Got a text from Patrick.”

“Well, that sucks,” Frank says, but Mikey is practically iridescent with happiness so he doesn’t really care. 

The noises behind them escalate and Gerard, ever aware of things that might threaten his brother, scans the surroundings for any potential threats.

“Shit,” he mutters and nudges Frank’s arm. “It’s that journalist.”

It is in fact Brock, looking more desperate than he’d been yesterday if that was possible.

“Hey,” he says coming right up into Frank’s space. “I know this sounds crazy, but…”

Gerard bristles. 

“You got a problem with Frankie?” His voice bordering on hostile. 

“Frankie?” Brock asks, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Is that his name?”

Frank nods, and Brock shrugs. 

“Whatever,” he says. “I don’t care. You don’t belong with him, you belong with me.”

Frank can feel a giant wave of pleasure infuse him, and he nods, helpless, not caring that no one is going to understand what’s going on. 

“What’s going on?” Gerard asks, confused. “Frank, do we have a problem?”

“Nope,” Frank tells him, high on endorphins. “Today’s a day for reuniting people in love.”

“What do you mean?” Gerard asks, still confused and with the start of hurt dawning on his face. 

“I’ve ugh, had a passenger?” Frank says with what he hopes is a winning grin, realising that he’s going to have to explain _something_. 

“A passenger?”

“He’s been carrying around a jerk who sulks when he doesn’t get his own way,” Brock says, but he’s smiling and Frank can almost feel the relief emanating from him.

“Huh,” Bob says. “That’s weird because usually he _is_ a jerk who sulks when he…”

“Wait.” Gerard cuts him off with a sharp look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Brock reaches out and pulls Frank to face him. “I’m sorry for saying you were ruining my life. You know I didn’t mean it. I love you. I miss you. Come back to me.” He shakes his head. “I can give up journalism if you really need me to.”

There’s so much honesty in his face that it kinda takes Frank’s breath away. 

“I…” he starts to say before he’s propelled into Eddie’s arms.

“I missed you too, Eddie,” his mouth says. “But you don’t have to give up journalism for me. I love the person you are.” Frank has a second to blink at this before he’s kissing Eddie, frantic and hungry, awash with emotions he doesn’t recognise, and doesn’t think are his. 

“Hey,” Gerard sounds outraged. “Get your hands off my… get your hands off Frank.”

Eddie laughs into Frank’s mouth and pulls back to look at Gerard with a poise and determination to his actions that has been missing until now. 

“You want to make demands like that,” Eddie says, his arms still around Frank even though Frank doesn’t think it’s Eddie talking right at the moment. “You should do something about your feelings.” 

He grins at Gerard, showing a lot more teeth than any human should ever have. Gerard hisses and takes a step back. 

“Frankie,” the face turns back towards Frank. “You too. Do something about your feelings. It hurts when you are apart from the person you should be with. Don’t feel like that, Frankie.”

“I won’t,” Frank says, even though the words stick in his throat. “You shouldn’t either.”

The thing that might be Eddie and might be whatever Frank’s been carrying around with him for the last few days grins, feral and happy. 

“We are together again,” it says. “We are _Venom_ again.”

“Well then.” Frank leans forward and kisses them gently on the cheek. “You try not to fuck this up, and I’ll do my best with Gee, deal?”

“Deal,” Venom says and Frank steps back, letting go of them. 

Gerard’s arm is around him in a second, but Eddie… Venom… whatever… is already turning away, moving smoothly through the crowd, at home in his body, and not in the least the lost looking man that they had met yesterday. 

“Frank?” Gerard asks, an edge of fear in his voice. “What was that…”

He doesn’t finish, but only because Frank turns in his arms, kissing him as desperately as his alien had kissed Eddie only minutes before.

“Doesn’t matter,” Frank tells him, resting their foreheads together. “It’s gone now, Gee.”

“Gone?” Gerard is scanning Frank’s face as if he could see all Frank’s secrets. “But…”

“I’m fine,” Frank tells him and Gerard mirrors his smile, as if unable to help himself. “I’m fine and we’re…”

“Gonna get in a world of trouble if we don’t get outta here before the press arrive,” Pete cuts in. “I mean, not that we’re not all cheering to see you finally get your acts together but…”

“Yeah.” Mikey claps Frank on the shoulder. “Not the place.”

“Pffff.” Frank kisses Gerard again on the side of his mouth. “That’s rich coming from you two.”

He grabs Gerard by the hand and they make their way, laughing, through an airport full of Christmas reunions towards the lounge and Europe and whatever comes next.

**Author's Note:**

> What timeline? I don't even know what you're talking about. 
> 
> Thank you to [redacted] for the beta read - all remaining mistakes are mine.


End file.
